


because you want to die for love

by youknowthelines



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Creativity | Roman “Princey” Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders Are Twins, Creativity | Roman “Princey” Sanders Angst, Developing Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Dissociation, Fairy Tale Elements, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Platonic Relationships, Self-Hatred, Swearing, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25064341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youknowthelines/pseuds/youknowthelines
Summary: If there’s bad, good will rise up against it― that’s exactly what Roman would’ve said, because that’s the kind of idiot he is, and Remus wants to be mad about it. He wants to be mad at Glasses, who’s sure of what he’s saying, and Heart, who looks one second away from crying ― wants to feel proud at the way heartbreak shines in Virge’s face even through his worry, because it’s been years since he was the one to put it in there.He feels nothing.Can’tfeel, is the thing. Because while there’s a part of Remus that’s utterly lost in the irrefutable logic presented, the other part seeks the catch in Janus’ eyes and sees nothing buttruth.When the truth comes from the keeper of lies, you can’t turn away from it.Except ― except Remuscan’tbe good. Hasn’t been since the King,hadn’t wanted todidn’t give it any thought since the Split. How can he be something even remotely close togoodwhen Roman had always been there to fill that space, when Roman ― and Roman alone ― had always beenenough?If there’s bad, good will rise up against it.But, well. Roman’s not here anymore, is he?[Post POF, Roman and Remus switch places.]
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Everyone, Creativity | Roman “Princey” Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders & Everyone
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	because you want to die for love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Richard Siken's poem _Planet of Love._  
>  All chapter titles come from Richard Siken's poems as well.
> 
> A few notes:  
> \- this **won't** be an unsympathetic!Roman story;  
> \- King Creativity is (and will be) referred as "they";  
> \- Remus is, well, Remus, but 'toned down' because my brain isn't wired for joke-y gore;  
> \- I really, _really_ like putting emphasis on text;  
> \- if you think anything needs tagging, please, tell me! I'll gladly do so.
> 
> possible TWs for this chapter: mentions of blood and injury, crying

> They are whole, once.
> 
> The world unravels in colors and shapes and _wonder,_ and the neverending adventure hums under their skin like lightning’s made home within their bones ― bright and vicious and _alive._ They’re whole, fitting pieces of a puzzle never meant to be taken apart, full of warmth and energy.
> 
> A powerful title and a kingdom at the tip of their fingers, they have the world to uncover, all of it, no piece left behind. All the dreams and all the nightmares and the _Creation,_ the people and the monsters, the stories and the twists that sprout from their thoughts, their wants, their needs, that grow beyond anything they can ever properly understand.
> 
> There’s no logic ― not one where real-world logic applies to, at the very least. The order they find is settled in the chaos, the honesty, the no-filter development of actions they have no intent nor the will to stop. They don’t _have_ to, is the thing. They follow through the natural course of things, the instinctual growth of their own creations.
> 
> Golden sash.
> 
> Sword and Shield, hand in hand.
> 
> A crown.
> 
> _It doesn’t last._
> 
> The Split.
> 
> Red. Green.
> 
> Black. White.
> 
> Gold, splintered into pieces that’ll never fit the way they did before ― that are not _meant_ to, not anymore.
> 
> For every hope, a fear. For every dream, a nightmare. Battle scars that don’t heal, and a world ― a _kingdom_ ― in which invisible walls rise higher each day that goes by, mismatched pieces of distinct puzzles that grow to be _different._
> 
> Different than what they were, what they used to be.
> 
> ~~Different than what they were meant to.~~
> 
> For the Protector, an Antagonist.
> 
> Sword and Shield, misplaced.

_You made such a noble sacrifice._

The wardrobe is the first, tumbling down as soon as Roman’s foot connects with it ― with it go the makeup kits, the Disney figures, the jewelry he never really bothers putting on. It all scatters on the ground, a colorful mess, his broken colognes leaking through the carpeted floor. He doesn’t really think, _can’t,_ thoughts a jumbled mess, unshed tears making his vision waver.

_It served no one._

It makes him _angry,_ all of it ― the posters, the drawings, gods, his _work._ Roman slams his sword across the desk he’s spent one too many nights in, the half-formed outlines, all the miserable _scribbles_ he’s put his blood, sweat and tears into. All of it for _nothing,_ All of it for the minimal crumbles of acceptance, of validation, of _praise._ All of it for mean words and thinly veiled disappointment, twisted lips that never quite managed to stop a grimace, expressions of discomfort and disbelief he could’ve never ― shouldn’t have ― hoped to make vanish.

_Maybe selflessness isn’t always the answer._

The windows are a pretty lie he’s willed himself to believe in, but the curtains are not, and Roman pulls until they snap, soft cloth tearing in his violent grasp, and that, too, he wants to rid himself of. _All_ of it ― he wants to burn it to the ground, if needed be, tear into all the minimal things that make him _himself,_ if only it’ll mean it’ll _stop._

His thoughts. His tears. The fire that leaps at his chest, vicious and unrelenting, merciless in its devouring eagerness. Roman tastes ashes at the tip of his tongue, horrors and fears that clog onto his throat like dried blood of a wound he’s never paid any attention to and has now come back to haunt him.

Isn’t that what all of this is about, after all?

Hauntings?

_My name is Janus._

The closet is a mess. The clothes he’s used to act side by side with Thomas. The Christmas sweater. His first uniform. And there’s a part of him, childish and hurting, that wants to tear them apart, too ― push until they’re gone, burn down to ashes the remains of what was once a dream, the most hopeful of all his adventures. Roman’s not good at endings, has never been, but holding onto something that has only ever ached, deep within his chest, sounds idiotic, even to _himself._

The mindless one.

The one that never reaches expectations, no matter how small.

~~The _failure._~~

The miserable Prince.

_Thank god you don’t have a moustache, otherwise between you and Remus, I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is._

Roman doesn’t realize the moment the tears start falling ― can’t ground himself for long enough to feel anything but the way his heart hammers inside his ribcage, the rush of blood in his ears, the buzzing of conflicting thoughts shattering against each other while he tries and fails miserably at keeping any resemblance of control. He doesn’t ground himself for long enough to regret the tearing of the posters in his walls, the way figurines and tiny trinkets break into his hands like crumbling pieces of a kingdom.

_His_ kingdom. His responsibilities.

His failure.

_I thought I was your hero._

The mirror is the last one to go, a clattering mess that shatters on the floor in a million tiny pieces Roman’s got no hope of ever fixing, and then he’s on that same floor, heaving, burning lungs and trembling hands that clutch at his chest, the handle of his sword, fingers clawing against his uniform in a weak attempt to free himself, fighting to _breathe._

If not a hero, then _what?_ Roman’s _Hope._ Roman’s Passion and Dreams and _Ego,_ and why is he not _enough?_ He’s put _everything_ on the line for being _good_ ― a good friend, a good person, a good _hero._ He’s willingly sacrificed the biggest chance Thomas had in a split-second decision of following _morals,_ of being there for Thomas’ friends, and what did that _accomplish?_

Not the satisfaction he’d wanted. Not the praise he was never supposed to _wish for_ in the first place. All it did was make things worse, bring Deceit ― _Janus_ ― back, make Patton upset, and Roman hasn’t even started to think on what all of this will amount to with the others.

_I thought I was your hero._

Roman’s sword clatters to the ground, a scream tearing itself from deep within his chest, and the world _shatters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot (and I DO mean **a lot)** of Roman feelings and all of them will eventually be worked through in this story, so, yay! Buckle up, we're in for a ride.
> 
> ~~also, platonic drlamp is basically my life, so, you've been warned~~


End file.
